Five of Pentacles
by Joon and Poe
Summary: AU, YAOI, YURI. Main 3x4, 5x2 Eventual 1xR, CxD. I know, it's the oldest trick in the book but that must mean it's worth something, ne? High-School-Angst at its best! Please, PLEASE R&R! XOXO
1. Prologue & Chapter One: Summer's Gone

Five of Pentacles  
  
  
by poe nataku and juniper triton  
  
Disclaimer and Warnings:  
We own nothing, bla, bla, bla. We have nothing, so don't bother suing or anything crazy like that. Entertainment purposes only, yadda, yadda, yadda (I'm sure you all know the drill.)  
This is an alternate universe high-school fic. I know, I know, it's been done a-zillion times. But hey- it hasn't yet been done by us, right?   
Pairings: eventual 1xR, 2x5, 3x4, CxD (and don't be surprised if others happen to pop up.)  
  
hmmm. . . other warnings. . . we'll cross that bridge when we get there, ne?  
Oh! Right! Summer's Gone in chapter one is property of the band Placebo.  
To The Fic!  
  
  
Five of Pentacles  
Prologue: Upright Meaning: Loss, Lack, The Outcast  
  
His earliest memory was a dream. Perhaps, more accurately, a nightmare. He did not know that he was dreaming, only that something was terribly out-of-place. Something was horribly wrong. There were voices. There were frightened little voices and angry splintering sounds. He often guessed by the state of his body- curled up, pulled tight around him- and by the little light streamers that pried through the slats of wood (the floor?) above him that he was hiding. He was hiding from those angry sounds and little voices though something inside insisted that it wasn't right, this hiding. Maybe, he wondered, was he supposed to be with those frightened little voices? Should he be protecting, or waning with them?  
  
He always woke up with the explosion sound of a door having finally been broken away. Sometimes he heard the screaming, too, but not always.  
  
Sometimes he wondered if it was a dream at all. Maybe it was his memory, surfacing in the only way it knew how- coming up for air when the rest of him was sleeping. He would shrug away the thought after only a moment and roll not-so-gracefully from bed in search of the coffee that would lend that grace back to his stiff, unwilling limbs.  
  
No, he was not a morning person.  
  
Coffee. Shower. Uniform. Book-bag. And then, he would nod a farewell to his almost-father and walk with his almost-sister to the Sacred-Sword Academy. She would try to engage him in conversation (as she did every morning) and he would give her one syllable answers or a simple shake of the head where he could get away with it. She would then huff indignantly and squawk about his obvious lack of people skills. When they reached the academy she would embrace him tightly, kiss his cheek lightly, and insist that he have a good day. Nodding to her, if only to pacify, he would make his way though familiar halls and to his first class trying to remember when or how his life became so predictable, so scheduled. Was he a creature of habit? Again, shrugging away thought, he would sit in his seat, not speaking, not making eye-contact or even acknowledging his fellow students.  
  
Silence, he thought. The Silence is safe.  
  
  
  
One: Summer's Gone  
  
_Key to your face so forsaken  
Crushed by the way that you cry  
Key to your face so forsaken  
What a surprise_  
  
Duo groaned dramatically, he sighed with gusto, and pounded the hell out of his alarm clock. Summer was over. It was the first day of a new year, his first day at a new school, and after much deliberation he decided it best to roll over and sleep though it.  
  
Ah, no such luck.  
  
Duo Maxwell if you are not out of that bed and in this kitchen in 30 seconds so help me God. . .  
  
Ah, Sister Helen.   
  
Using the Lord's name in vain? he called back, voice thick from sleep. Obediently though, he pulled reluctant limbs from the warm cocooned haven of bed. Tucking a well-worn robe around himself he descended the stairs and stomped into the kitchen with a pout planted firmly on his features. Putting it nicely, he was not happy. New school meant new teachers who would look down snobbish, intellectual noses at him. It meant new bullies and a new head-master who would refuse to believe that the fights hadn't been his fault. It would mean a shinny new expulsion and an even newer school next term. Gods. _What a World,_ he sang in his mind.  
  
The good Sister, knowing him so well, hugged him with a silent comfort and heaped his plate with all his favorites. Pancakes, strawberries, bacon and eggs.  
  
_You try to break the mold  
Before you get too old  
You try to break the mold  
Before you die_  
  
The sun was cresting, rising into the moring, beginning a ritual march through the skies. And lying perfectly still, in a small-neat-military-precise kind of room, alert, even in sleep was Heero Yui. The alarm clock always made a soft clicking sound before the buzzing began. He woke at the click and switched it to _off_ before the harsh buzz could invade the quiet of the dawn. It was more of a precaution anyway, the alarm. He would have woken in another five minutes without it as he had instructed his body the night before. No sense in being careless, now was there?  
  
Morning regiment completed, cleaned and dressed and ready to go, Heero grunted a crisp parting to his guardian and closed the door behind him. Though, not before Mr. Lowe could instruct him of after-school responsibilities and demand a prompt return.  
  
Rigid, unyielding, determined, Heero Yui walked the streets that brought him to the Sacred-Sword Academy.  
  
_Key to your heart that is racing  
Stung by the look in your eye  
Key to your heart that is racing  
What a surprise_  
  
It was the only word he had now, he said.  
  
Sorry, Little Brother, came the strained yet honey-sweet voice from the driver's seat. You know what Father said.  
  
He sighed quietly, leaning further into his seat as though it might swallow him if he leant just the right pressure. Sadly, no. Nothing, no one was coming to his rescue this time.   
  
There was a not-so-disguised sound of frustration and annoyance from the front passenger seat. At least he had an ally, he thought, brightening slightly. There it was again- a growl, answered by a sad exhalation. He couldn't help but smile at that. They were all so stubborn sometimes.  
  
  
  
  
  
He caught himself wanting to smile again, though his heart still fluttered madly in his chest- trying to get out. Iria and Aria stared each other down before him, daring the other to look away. Spooky-twin-staring-contset. It was Iria, finally, who broke the spell, seeing as though she was the driver and needed perhaps to watch the road. Aria wore a smug half-smile and turned to her brother who sat so dejectedly behind her. Cheer up, Quat, she pleaded with a soothing tone, smile and glance. I'll work on _Heir Gestapo_ and we'll have you home in no time.  
  
Iria made a chiding sound in her throat but left the scolding at that.  
  
_You try to break the mold  
Before you get too old  
You try to break the mold  
Before you die_  
  
Chang Wufei woke with the sun. He was quick and precise in his pre-school activities and had time to spare when finished. Study, he thought, no sense in falling behind before the term has even begun. And so he did- stalking into the Academy's grandiose library before the rest of the household had stirred awake. They would know where he had gone. Chang Wufei, the obstinate scholar. The starchy, over-achieving educator-pet. Wisdom was a priceless thing, after all.  
  
And so, when the first bell rang, signally the beginning of a new year, Chang Wufei closed the volume before him, returned it to its proper place and left the library.  
  
_Key to your face so forsaken  
Crushed by the way that you cry  
Key to your face so forsaken  
Saying goodbye_  
  
Aria crawled from her seat to give her little brother a hug, a kiss and playful hair ruffling as Iria cut the engine in the parking lot of the Sacred-Sword Academy. Iria graced a hand over his upper arm in a familiar, calming gesture. It wont be so bad, she promised. You'll see. Quatre forced a smile, though it wasn't sincere and they all knew it. He hugged both twins again- Iria in a medical coat with her hair cropped short and Aria with her go-go boots and wild dyed-tresses. Their faces though, were the same as the wore tiny sympathetic goodbyes on their lips.  
  
He turned from them then, an air of confidence about him though he could not breathe it in. At the main office he was gifted with a schedule and vague directions to his first period. Breathe in. Breathe out. He gathered little bits of courage and built them into a calm, composed pretense as he readied himself for this new beginning.  
  
It hadn't taken long to locate the classroom he sought. Room 403 stood near the main office and was clearly marked. He assured himself that he was relaxed, he was confident and capable as his shaking hand descended upon the knob of the door.  
  
  
Trowa glanced up through his bangs as the door slipped open.  
  
He noted the boy- blonde hair, blue eyes, delicate though not overly so. He held a sheaf of dusty yellow paper in one hand as the other still clutched at the handle of the door. _He's nervous_, Trowa thought, though the boy moved with a seemingly flawless elegance. Practiced. Polished. Would anyone else even notice how his breathing hitched slightly on the intake or the subtle quaking of his fingers? Trowa doubted it. Apparently, observance was a lost art.  
  
There was something there- something familiar. Shrug it off.  
  
  
Quatre approached his teacher and introduced himself. She, in turn, introduced him to the class and pointed out an empty desk beside a despondent youth with a thick fall of dark-auburny hair obscuring the better part of his face. _Something familiar_.   
  
He had no time to dwell in memories past though, as Ms. Noin once more requested the attention of her class.  
  
_Sing for your lover like blood from a stone  
and sing for your lover who's waiting at home  
If you sing when you're high and you're dry as a bone,  
then you must realize that you're never alone  
And you'll sing with the dead  
Said you'll sing with the dead_  
  
Oh, no, Duo was _not_ happy. The Academy was enormous, the faculty unhelpful, the uniforms were stuffy, bland and itchy, and already- he was late. Skidding into his first period classroom he had thought to make an apology, blame his lateness on something inane, offer a greeting, maybe Hey, I'm Duo Maxwell. I may run and hide but I never tell a lie, or something of the like. Immediately though, he was cut off by a very intimidating, very _unfriendly_ looking man. Fabulous, he thought. His first day and already he was on the wrong side of a teacher, though he wasn't sure he'd want to be on any side of Mr. Barton who, with an age-gnarled finger pointed out an empty seat.  
  
Duo ducked his head and slunk down the aisles of desks.  
  
He found himself seated between two very severe looking students. On his right, an arrogant looking youth of (he was guessing) chinese decent and on his left, with erratic brown hair and posture so stiff it looked painful, a guy Duo couldn't quite put his finger on. Japanese? he wondered, though he had never seen anyone with eyes like that. So fierce and yet, emotionless all at once.   
  
Mr. Barton had not waited long before diving head-first into an impassioned lecture. His scaly voice and opinionated insistence had Duo's skin crawling and mind racing. He wanted to know who the hell let a wing-nut like this teach a history course.  
  
What a World, hm?  
  
TBC. . . MUWAHAHA! Please let us know what you think!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!


	2. When The Curious Girl Realizes She is Un...

Disclaimers: We own nothing. Damn. When The Curious Girl Realizes She is Under Glass is a _Bright Eyes_ song. It belongs to them, not us. Damn. . . again.  
  
To the Fic!  
  
  
Five of Pentacles  
juniper triton and poe nataku  
  
  
Two: When The Curious Girl Realizes She is Under Glass  
  
_Tomorrow when I wake up  
I'm finding my brother  
And I'm making him take me back down to the water  
That lake where we sailed, and we laughed with our father  
I will not desert him  
I will not desert him_  
  
Some things never change, Quatre thought with a little sigh. How many had it been now? He had been tossed from one school to another, abruptly, without thought or explanation for as long as he could remember. And still, some things just never changed. It was the same in every school, he decided. The new kid was something of a plague, something to be avoided, ignored. Quatre, being the perpetually new kid sat alone at one of many regulation lunch tables and picked at what might have been food. He wasn't exactly sure. Another thing that you could count on. Cafeteria food, that is, being inedible.  
  
Passing a hand through his pale bangs, Quatre made an attempt at happy thoughts. As he sat there, by himself, utterly miserable, Aria was likely causing a scene at home. He imagined Iria holding her manic, flailing twin back as she verbally lashed at their father and insisted on Quatre's own speedy return. What he would have given to be a fly on the wall back at the estate- a mad Aria was truly a sight to behold.   
  
He missed her already, he decided with a wilty half-smile. Some things never change.  
  
Somewhere, far away. . . Well, more like on the other side of the cafeteria, a single, keen-emerald eye watched poor, desolate Quatre as he picked and played with his meal, trying to make himself believe that things would get better. Trowa readjusted his gaze as he caught the sound of clear-ringing footsteps behind him. Reluctant as he was to admit it, there was something familiar about the blonde, something biting at the back of his mind- his memory.  
  
Three chairs were pulled back from the table, scrapping, gnawing tiled floors. After the settling sounds of bodies in seats quieted, Trowa again raised his eyes to great his companions, two of which were known and the other. . .  
  
Trowa Barton, Wufei's voice cut the air with a precision all its own. Gesturing to the grinning boy seated between himself and Heero he added, as though as an afterthought,   
  
Duo Maxwell, the other said, extending a hand in greeting which Trowa, with stoicism, accepted. You related to Mr. Barton, the history teacher? he asked around a quick bite of something greasy.  
  
Trowa shook his head. he said momentarily. I don't think so. He found himself looking away at that, hoping no other explanation would be necessary. Somehow, he felt he was not in the mood to explain his own name. No, not his- someone else's perhaps. He couldn't remember. Until Duo's jovial-baritone rent the air again Trowa hadn't realized where his sights had fallen.  
  
Friend of yours? Duo was asking him, jerking his head in the direction of the solitary blonde.  
  
Trowa made no answer.  
  
He's new, Heero observed in a monotone, as though it explained everything.   
  
Duo at least, was satisfied at this. he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Heero's shoulder and boosting himself from his seat. Heero only glared. I'll invite him over- doesn't look like he knows anyone. Duo was off before his sentence had stopped.  
  
Suddenly uneasy- a strange sense of, (maybe dread?) slipping through him, Trowa excused himself.  
  
What's with Barton? Wufei questioned, following his retreating form with a subtle curiosity.  
  
Heero shrugged his glare off long enough for, well, a shrug, before fixing it back in place.  
  
_No matter how I may wish for a coffin so clean  
Or these trees to undress all their leaves onto me  
I put my face in the dirt and then finally I'll see  
The sky that has been avoiding me._  
  
Quatre glanced up from the floor as a pair of scuffed black boots halted in the corner of his vision. He followed from boot to face and found himself meeting the violet eyes of another student. He noted a thick chestnut braid dangling down the boys back, ending just before his knees, before smiling sheepishly.  
  
he said, idly noting that he sounded like an imbecile.  
  
the other said, extending a hand in friendship. I'm Duo Maxwell. You new?  
  
Yeah, I'm Quatre.  
  
Duo was saying, backwards straddling the chair to Quatre's right. Me too.  
  
Quatre couldn't help but give a genuine smile at that. At least he wasn't completely alone. Misery loves company, sure, and miseries in common lends to instantaneous bonding. Quatre liked Duo already, and the feeling was more than mutual. A friendly face- an excuse to give up on the futile attempt that had been eating lunch- things were suddenly looking up.  
  
Next on the schedule was economics which, Quatre noted with relief, Duo had as well. His father had majored in economics, once upon a time. Quatre loathed it. Said father had once also had a dream in which his one and only male child followed in his footsteps and took over the family business. Right. The Winner family would sooner be looking up real estate in Hell when the temperature dropped. Running a business of _Winner_ caliber was not high on Quatre's list of favorite things. Ranked some where above death, yes, but under the one where you have your eyes gouged out ala _King Lear_.  
  
Economics was taught in a stuffy old room by a stuffy old man called Dermail.  
  
Oh, for small suffering sounds.  
  
Today, the time could not have flown fast enough for Quatre.   
  
_Well I started this letter  
I'm going to send it to Ruba  
It'll be blessed by her eyes on the Gulf Coast of Florida_  
  
When at last released for the day, Trowa made for his almost-sister's locker to await, and join her walking home. Having shared another two classes with the somehow-strangely-devastatingly-familiar blonde, he was keen now on the day's end and falling head-long into his own bed. She didn't keep him waiting long, rounding the corner with a smile at the sight of him.  
  
Hey, Tro.  
  
with a little nod.  
  
How was your day?  
  
Only a shrug this time.  
  
They left after a quick stop at Trowa's own locker which was on the way out, falling into step when the crowd thinned. Catherine did all the talking which wasn't at all unusual aside from that maybe today she seemed a little distracted. Trowa made several times to ask at this but always thought better of it. If she wanted him to know, he would. No point in pushing things, now was there?  
  
_With her feet in the sand,  
And one hand on her swimsuit,  
She'll recite the prayer of my pen_  
  
Wufei walked home with Heero, as he had every day since they were children. Though today perhaps, things were a touch different. Not five steps from campus they had caught up with Duo and realized their general directions to be the same. Wufei and Heero both lived downtown, in the heart of the city where Duo would catch a bus back to his own home. Well, something of a home at least.  
  
Curious and Annoyed. Torn. finally though, Wufei fed the curiosity and entered into something of a conversation with Duo. Heero, however, stared only out ahead of himself, contributing nothing for the sake of the_ new kid_.  
  
Why enroll here, Wufei wanted to know (though _demanded_ was the way it came across) if you live so far out?  
  
Duo thought on that for a moment. Somehow the truth, something like _Well, you see, I've been tossed out of every school in my district_' didn't seem like the line to win him any friends. Maybe _There's something of a homophobia epidemic round my parts. Berserk jocks being a sort of side effect and my having defended my own ass was, well, frowned upon._' Definitely not. Nothing scared off, freaked out, and enraged teenage boys like the word _gay_. He settled finally on, Good scholarship, which wasn't _exactly _a lie. Well, not a BIG one anyway.  
  
They parted ways a block from the bus station with a couple _see you tomorrow_'s and a course of _later_'s.  
  
_Saying, "Time take us forward.  
Relief from this longing.  
They can land that plane on my heart;  
I don't care.  
Just give me November,  
The warmth of a whisper,  
In the freezing darkness of my room."_  
  
Iria and Aria were already there when the final bell rang. Quatre thought he had never been so glad to see them or their horrible would-be-car. The day had had definite up's and down's. Up let's say, was Duo's open friendship and a handful of decent classes. Down's of course being general un-friendliness, lunch quality and economics. There was also this nagging residue in the back of his mind of something obviously forgotten. But what was it?  
  
Aria and Iria exchanged one of those creepy _knowing_ twin looks, the kind where you're certain you've missed out on some sort of silent communication. Shortly though, they pounced for details.  
  
How was it?  
  
Make any friends?  
  
Do I need to kick any asses?  
  
Classes were OK?  
  
Quatre knew not which he wanted more; to scream, laugh or cry. Maybe through his arms around the twins in a hug, or an attempt to strangle them? He settled eventually on a soft smile and vague   
  
_But no matter what I would do in an attempt to replace  
All these pills that I take, trying to balance my brain  
See the curious girl with that look on her face  
So surprised she stares out from her display case_  
  
When he crawled into his bed that night, Trowa thought sleep to be an illusive wild thing. An animal even he could not tame. An animal with soft, earth-pounding paws and a lullaby-song caught in their speed. He stared past the darkness of his room, past the moist black panes of the window and out into the voids that were his memories.  
  
There was nothing for him there. Only a dream, and a glimpse of golden hair.  
  
  
TBC  
  
Please review- we're desperate for them you know.


	3. Three Libras

Our humblest apologies for delays- really. And look- a slightly longer, 3x4 centric chapter just for you!  
  
Disclaimer: Leave the poor, tortured writers alone- they don't own anything. Three Libras is a _Perfect Circle_ song, also not belonging to said, sad writers.  
  
Ohohohoh! Thank you so much to everyone who has left us a review- we love you!  
On to the fic. . .  
  
  
Five od Pentacles  
juniper triton and poe nataku  
  
Three: Three Libras  
  
_Threw you the obvious,  
And you flew with it on your back,  
A name in your recollection,  
Down among a million same,_  
  
A dream. A photograph. A memory. A locket. A breath. A name, on a tag, in a pocket.  
  
There were things that he knew to be true. There were things not quite remembered. His name was not Trowa Barton. Trowa Barton had been printed on a little silver ID bar in an over-sized coat when they found him that night, but they were not his. The name, the tag or the coat. Not really. He often thought he had no name. In his bleakest moments he knew that was why he had not been sought after. No one came looking for the nameless. He was a child with no name, memory or voice, on a street he did not recognize when they found him. Maybe it was his street. Maybe he had lived there. No one on that street had claimed him.  
  
He was a little boy, tortured silent, with a name tag with someone else's name in the pocket of a coat (also someone else's) and a locket fisted to a degree of pain in his little hand.  
  
He still wore the locket on a long cord under his shirt. No one, not even his almost-family, knew about the locket with its disintegrating photograph of a woman who might have been his real family. He knew now, every curve, shadow, and line of her image. She, in her tarnished locket was the only tangible piece to a puzzle that was his past.  
  
  
Catherine was in a mood. This he knew as well. He could hear her torturing herself acrobatically in the yard. She had gone on a run shortly after returning home and then thrown herself into practice for the coming weekend, distracting herself with physical exertion. The circus was nearly a way of life in this house- a full time job. True, performances were only held on the weekend but practice, management and esthetics had to be kept up. There were costumes to mend, animals to feed and groom, new hands to train, and last but not least- the paper work for all things previously noted.  
  
For Trowa and Catherine, there were also the stresses and pressures of high school. Homework, sociability, the day-to-day grind of education. With a sigh, Trowa left his unfinished school work to join Catherine on the rectangle of unkempt grass behind the house.  
  
Landing a series of flips and twists Catherine met the visible eye of her almost-brother. she said around a gasping breath, though the lack of her self-defining-delight was clearly noted. He nodded his own greeting and cut to the chase. Something's bothering you. it wasn't a question- they both knew it.  
  
That transparent, am I? she was angry now.  
  
Trowa shrugged, a casual toss of shoulders. Maybe to me- your my sister. He had her now, could see her resolve faltering along with the anger and armor. She had always insisted he refer to her as such, even when it wasn't exactly true. She was always thrilled when he did.  
  
It's Dorothy, there was a shiver in her voice now.   
  
Trowa didn't find out what she was though, as dinner was announced and the family fell into a companionable, if not slightly stiff, silence around the kitchen table.  
  
In Trowa's dream that night, like so many nights before, the were frightened little voices, angry splintering sounds, the defeat of a door.  
  
A glimpse of golden hair.  
  
_Difficult not to feel a little bit,  
Disappointed and passed over,  
When I look right through,  
To see you naked but oblivious,  
And you don't see me,_  
  
With each passing day Quatre found (to his extreme displeasure) that the first inconsequential stab of memory had grown into a seizing, insistent, determined Beast. In every conscious thought there was that bite- that growl of something immeasurably important slipping through his fingers. There was also now, the headaches and a touch of insomnia. There was _extreme_ displeasure.   
  
At times, he was so sure, so close. He could feel the memory-residue, the weight of a long ago time. It was right there, on the other side of his eyelids- he knew it. But it was always gone when he woke for the search of it. Every tiny glimpse, waking memory, glitter-ember of past, led him to a complete and total dead end.   
  
Trowa Barton.  
  
Lurking around every corner on memory lane was a boy Quatre had only just met. Hadn't he? His name didn't ring a single bell- there was nothing of Trowa Barton in the recesses of his mind before enrollment at Sacred Sword. There was nothing. And yet- the singular image that had born the memory-beast into Quatre's every unguarded moment was the sight of this unassuming, this stoic Trowa Barton seated despondently in Ms. Noin's classroom that first day at the academy.  
  
There was something there- something more- something behind it all. Something in Trowa Barton. He knew it, and still, could not catch it.  
  
Illusive thing, this memory-beast of his.  
  
_But I threw you the obvious,  
Just to see if there's more behind the,  
Eyes of a fallen angel,  
Eyes of a tragedy,_  
  
Trowa sat with Heero and Wufei beneath a gnarled old oak on the edge of campus. The dining hall had been abandoned in favor of good weather and the hush of nature. Trowa thought idly of the lunch Catherine had packed him but abandoned that as well at the sight of Duo and Quatre's approach. There was a shiver hunting his spine, he fought it off though, retaining his calm, uncaring composure.  
  
Since that first encounter, or rather, near encounter, Trowa had been careful to avoid full contact the blonde. There was some unnamable, unplaceable emotion that made a home within him whenever Quatre was around. Unfortunate really, that Duo had taken a liking to them all and made contact an ever increasingly hard thing to elude.  
  
Duo was prepared with both greeting and grin as he fell into place beside Wufei who strangely, didn't seem to mind.  
  
Trowa raised an eyebrow at that. Wufei was abrasive, he was arrogant and vain yet somehow the manic Duo Maxwell had made it passed his defenses. Even Trowa and Heero, who maintained friendship with the scholar, treated him with a respect and quiet companionship. Duo was brash, he was noisy, he was carefree.  
  
He was exactly what Wufei needed.  
  
Trowa's gaze wandered to Quatre then, who caught it with his own. There was this fleeting moment of familiarity- of truth. It was quick to pass though, leaving Quatre with an embarrassed half-smile as Trowa (like always) averted his gaze. _He thinks I'm mental_, Quatre thought with a tiny sigh. _And maybe I am_. Was there any other explanation for what he had been feeling when here he had built a tentative friendship with these four students?   
  
Duo was easily the fastest and strongest of these friends. With a grin, a laugh and a wink he had everyone catching his infectious delight. He brightened any mood, any room with his light attitude and smile. Carefree and charming.  
  
Heero was made of something harder to penetrate but was never cruel to Quatre. He was thoughtful and helpful in classes, introspective and precise. He was the personification of strength and authority. A commanding and strangely calming figure.  
  
Wufei held a touch more mystery (to everyone it seemed, but Duo) he was quick witted and tempered. Willful and guarded. He appeared merely to tolerate Quatre's presence as he did with the others which led the blonde to think- not without a touch of doubt- of Wufei in friendship.  
  
Trowa though, silent, melancholy Trowa, was endlessly enchanting and frustrating.  
  
_Here I am expecting just a little bit,  
Too much from the wounded,_  
  
At the bell the friends disbanded. Heero, Wufei and Trowa headed for gym while Duo and Quatre made for economics.  
  
Distracted, Quatre muddled through Mr. Dermail's class with little thought to any one thing in particular. Thought was fluid, slippery slick sliding from one moment to the next until the lecture had concluded and the students filed out and separated again. Duo had tried to inquire of his well being but was swept up in the currents of passing, with a wave over the heads of several other students they parted and promised to meet up again at the closing of the day.   
  
  
In his art class, scarce moments later, Quatre again found himself admiring (yes- that was the word for it) the mystery that was Trowa Barton. From an artists perspective Trowa was a god. Tall, lean, toned, bronze, flawless. And from Quatre's perspective- much the same. There was something terrible and wondrous in those liquid green-eyes. And just beyond the fall of autumn hair was a face that was at once close and fathomless. Mystery, familiarity, comfort and trepidation. Something missing, overlooked, obscured and oh, so important to a part of his heart that Quatre could not name or remember.  
  
In his time at the academy, Quatre hadn't come any closer to liberating this locked away recollection that Trowa had roused with his silence.  
  
It was when he left his own easel to wash his brushes that Quatre found himself met with a liquesent emerald gaze. Again that cutting, nerve biting shiver of remembrance broke through his marrow. Again, Trowa looked away, but not before his eyes, in all their silence said to Quatre in a pleading so plain and tender; _See me_.  
  
_But I see,  
See through it all,  
See through,  
See you,_  
  
Trowa was lost to the painting. There was a freedom, a peace, an abandon in the painting that he sought with all of him. It was liberating. Almost like coming home. It wasn't until Quatre's movement caught in the corner of his eye that he realized what he had birthed onto the canvas. And it was in catching those movements that Trowa caught something more worth the chase.  
  
There was an endlessness in Quatre's eyes. In those quiet blue pools. Trowa knew he was drowning but suddenly couldn't bear the thought of breath if it meant survival without the ghosting eyes of this Angel in this watery grave. Had he the control over himself at the time, Trowa would have laughed outright at his own misguided poetics. He scarcely knew Quatre- not past a few soft _hello_'s and several shared classes. Why did this stranger- this seemingly mere mortal wield so much power over him? Him, with his immovable, stoic hush and set, blank expression.  
  
In the very depths, the wastelands and forgotten realms of his being, there was a past that was forgotten, and a whisper of golden hair.  
  
The stare was soon broken and Quatre hurried off to clean his brushes, leaving Trowa to the contemplation of his work. It was a landscape, which caught him as strange for a moment. He never worked in scapes- he didn't even recognize it. Couldn't place it, even when he knew somehow, that he should be able to.  
  
It was a poorly contained gasp to his right that shook Trowa again from the hold of the painting.  
  
It was Quatre- returning from the class sinks with brushes pristine and a lingering scent of the harsh lava soap. He seemed so small suddenly- even for his slight build. His face, drawn and pale seemed almost pained. He tried at first to speak, but his voice escaped control, losing itself between his throat and his lips. For a moment which lived forever, Trowa was drowning in those eyes again. Quatre, for his part, couldn't breathe- only press both fisted hands into his chest to dissuade the battle of his heartbeat.  
  
How do you know this place? were his whispered words when he found them. His voice was breathless, wounded.  
  
Trowa couldn't even force a shrug at the other's obvious pains. He did not know how he knew this place. It was as though the canvas had known it all along and needed only his hands to unveil it. It came into existence as though it had always meant to, regardless of the artist.  
  
There were no words for them here, so lost to each other in a painting.  
  
_Cause I threw you the obvious,  
To see what occurs behind the,  
Eyes of a fallen angel,  
Eyes of a tragedy,_  
  
The lull of the wave, waltz of the clouds, the thin streaming sunlight cast like spider's webbing upon the gold of the sands. The folds of the land, sway of the sky and whisper of the sea was in itself, perfect. Just as he remembered it.  
  
Just as he had left it, all those years ago.  
  
He could almost see himself reflected in the canvas, standing just at the water's edge- imagining the curl of the ocean around his body, his lungs, his life. Simply standing there, asking the waves with a silent trembling, to take him away. How many times had he stood there- transfixed by the subtle, natural beauty of it all? The sand, the water, the sky. How many times had he stood there, at the bordering of land and sea, wishing for a thing like salvation? Like freedom. Liberation.  
  
Up the overgrown path, through the white-washed gate and past the door was a man that demanded so much and gave so little. There was a sister who cried honey-thick tears all night and her twin who grew angry, bitter and far away. There was severity, sorrow and alienation. There was a family who had not been a family in many, many years but refused to give up the charade.   
  
And there was Quatre, standing at the end of the world.  
  
This is. . . how? Quatre found his words insufficient and his mind unwilling to cooperate. Too many questions, and not an answer in sight. Concepts of normality, sanity and humanity were falling away, fast. With hands still folded over his chest, Quatre looked into a single, nebulous green-eye and asked with his quiet heart all the things he could not voice.  
  
_Oh well,  
Oh well,  
Apparently nothing,  
Apparently nothing at all,_  
  
There was nothing to say. There were no words, no explanations, and no sound to be forced from thin, expressionless lips. In his chest, something quivered like a dove. At the meeting of gazes, green into blue, was an unspoken question but there was no answer. There was an unbroken, tangible stare- their eyes pulling, aching, needing for one another. Threading together.  
  
When the spell was broken by the sound of the bell Trowa was left sinking in the liquid depths of his own uncertain feelings. He was drawn, bewitched, hypnotized and transfixed by Quatre, and still- so uncertain. He could not understand how someone could walk into his life after all this time and turn it wrong-side-out. Why now- why Quatre?  
  
He looked into those eyes again, those lost, sorrow-stained blues. He drew a shuddering breath and looked away.  
  
I don't know, he heard himself saying without thought to the words. I don't know how I know this place. He left Quatre standing there, still shock-rooted to the spot. He walked away.  
  
_You don't,  
You don't,  
You don't see me,_  
  
Unopening his eyes, Quatre let it have him- chaos, disconcertion, dusk. Shattering, splintering, uncertainty. Here he was, at the end of the world, with not but an unfamiliar name on his lips.  
  
  
  
_You don't see me at all.  
_  
  
TBC. . .


	4. Hell Yes

Aa, forgive! I hate the delays as much as anyone but c'mon- education's a bitch, homework-beasties snarl, bite, and glomp, and all the caffeine in the world wont jump-start the muses these days. Just know that Poe and I are oh, so sorry and working our sorry asses off for you.  
  
And thank you so, SO much for the reviews! They really make my day : ) poe's too!  
  
Disclaimer: Bla, bla, bla- you know the drill. The Alkaline Trio owns _Hell Yes_.  
  
To the death! um. . . er. . . right. . . damn, to the fic. . .  
  
  
Five of Pentacles  
juniper triton and poe nataku  
  
Four: Hell Yes  
  
_I gave up on you a long time ago,  
How can you blame me?  
We made plans to meet and you never showed,  
You kept me waiting,_  
  
They say that the Devil looks after its own. Duo however, was inclined to disagree. The scene, the land, the time was slipping by beyond the window, following a now familiar route, on a now familiar bus from Sacred Sword after another long day. How. . . familiar. Duo Maxwell let the smile fall away at the welcomed, yet somehow still disappointing sight of the only home he had ever known.  
  
Dilapidated was the word that first came to mind. Maybe archaic, but what use was even the best of euphemisms when the decaying shell stood plainly before you? The old building had the air of a scorned child- hunched in on itself as awaiting the punishment that was sure to come. But, Duo was able to remind himself with a last squelching of self-pity, this was home. This was where he belonged. Up the craggy stairs, through the hall with all its peeling yellowed wallpaper and into the mis-matched sort-of living room where an ever friendly face waited with an ever friendly smile that somehow made coming back worth it all.  
  
How was your day, Duo?  
  
Sister Helen was knitting on the paisley couch by the only window that caught the afternoon light. Her calm, maternal manner put him instantly at ease and he sat beside her with a sigh that was not all discontent. Same as it ever was, he said in reply, doffing his shoes and tie.   
  
The good Sister had a wink of merriment in her eyes at his inquiry but tended her words with an admiral refinement. We had a visit from Miss. Po this morning, as Hilde was simply unable to attend her lessons.  
  
What is it now? Duo queried with an amused snort. Lemme guess- hmmm. . . anemia?  
  
  
  
Oh! So close.  
  
Maybe you should peek in on the poor dear? Maybe it was his imagination, but demure, nurturing Sister Helen seemed to be getting a real kick out of this one. And Duo, never one to pass up a good laugh, excused himself with a deep and ridiculous bow. Now, to _peek in_ on the invalid.  
  
My o my, he sang to himself, mounting another cringing flight of stairs. As far as he could tell, with all of Hilde's shameless flirtations, Sally Po had to be one of three things: Either straight, gay (and uninterested) or dense as a fruitcake. And having also witnessed, on more than one occasion, Miss. Po's own blush-tint attentions, he had decided that the woman was simply one dense fruitcake.  
  
Sally was little more than a Med. student, but with the unique situation of the place in which Hilde and Duo took up residence (namely, a poor, underfunded orphanage) real Doctors were often not spared from higher paying endeavors. That left the inexperienced, unlicensed hopefuls to make guinea pigs of the area's more unfortunate residents. It seemed lucky for Hilde, though perhaps not for Sally, as she ended up making frequent house calls.  
  
_They said everything would work out just fine  
They said you'd help me  
But as it turns out it was all a lie  
And they're off someplace far away laughing at me_   
  
Not bothering to knock, Duo let himself into Hilde's small room. Hey Hil, heard you had quiet a night. Had to seek medical attention, huh?  
  
What does a girl have to do to get a date around here? Drop dead? Hilde was a vision in ignored pursuits. She had somehow managed to look her best while still casting a light of sympathy birthing affliction. Poor thing- again, all work and no play.  
  
Duo's bright laughter rent the air as he sprawled beside her. Man, if only you'd thought of that earlier.  
  
And you? was Hilde's playful taunt, Sandman bring you the man of your dreams yet?  
  
Cutest I've ever seen, but I forgot to ask ol' Sandy to make him gay. Remind me next time.  
  
There was much dissolving into fits of laughter in Hilde's room that afternoon as both gave dramatic accounts of their own farcically sad love lives. Love was blind, and frankly, a bitch. All the indignant cursing and beating would not have it cooperating. What was left but to write a melancholy sonnet, denounce the fickle emotion and give oneself up for dead? Duo hadn't much time to wonder, but in that moment was content in the closeness of Hilde as they shared their lovelorn frustrations.   
  
Duo had never known his family, he didn't know if his eyes got their unique violet-color from his mother or his father. Had he inherited his grandfather's laugh? Or his grandmother's perchance for strong coffee? The tilt of his nose, arch of his brows- he had never looked into another face and recognized a piece of himself. Family. One word with so many meanings- good and bad. Maybe though, just maybe, what they lacked in blood and genetics, they made up for with compassion and heart here at Maxwell Orphanage. Maybe he could console himself with this. Maybe _maybe_ was good enough.  
  
_You've been there for me one time in my life  
But it didn't matter  
You came and went so fast all my hope  
And faith in you shattered_  
  
In the stillness, the quiet, the predictability of his room, Wufei felt suddenly suffocated. Downstairs, there was a family who asked so much, and gave so little. That expected- and was always expecting more. Perfection was a dream, and the charade was wearing thin. There was only so much in him- and what was left, had begun to spoil. To bitter. To fester. He wanted so many things for them. To be the flawless son- the praised scholar, to attain the perfect- the just. But then, there was this little thought, just a whisper, that wanted something for himself. To be honest and true and real. That wanted to be a teenage boy with the weight of tradition far from his crumbling shoulders. He could only hold so much.  
  
That voice was always silenced with a glare and bitter thought. He owed too much to this family to disappoint them with silly child-whims. He could only live for them now. He could wear himself to bone to keep them from seeing the frailty- the imperfection that he was. There was no room here for weakness.  
  
He resigned himself to his books- to their expectations. But giving in wasn't so easy as it had been. Not anymore, not now that there was a cheshire-grin and violet-wink haunting his days. Not now that there was a hope of something like happiness in the carefree laughter of one Duo Maxwell. His own personal weakness. A shimmer, a spark igniting vain little dreams in a heart he had long ago given up on.  
  
That heart was adamant now. It wanted. It ached for a fill of what it had been starving for these many years. There was a beating like a shudder beneath his ribcage, a persistent thump-thump-thump that traveled his every sense. It was distracting. It was wearing thin at his patience and concentration. It was blurring the lines of his reality. It was so incredibly frustrating.  
  
But he would not trade it for all the world.  
  
He was falling hard and fast. Chang Wufei, with his iron-trap mind and stone-face, his caustic, unyielding ideals and his strict, regimented life had fallen in love with Duo Maxwell. He balked often, at how quickly it had all happened. Initially, there had been annoyance. There had been a plain sneer angled down a lofty nose. There had been much exasperation and much fending off of talk. And then- then he had caught himself enjoying it. Seeking the braided maniac out and offering words to build a conversation. Initially, he thought he had lost his mind.  
  
There was no place in his life for love. There was no place in the Chang family for this love, especially. How exactly does one go about telling their very traditional parents that not only are they in love with a dodgy sort of american, but a dodgy male american? How does one shatter for their very expectant family the hope of a proper sort of marriage to a proper chinese female?  
_  
And now here I sit alone in this room  
No one to confide in  
You watched all my dreams come apart at the seams  
You laughed, you left, you waited in hiding  
  
_Mr. Barton was in fine form this morning. It was a particular sort of torture, Wufei thought between the turning of textbook pages. Beside him, Duo fidgeted ceaselessly- worrying away at the end of his braid. The sun caught in the chestnut tint of his hair, cast little shadows from the crease in his brow. Lost as he was to the observation of this, Wufei nearly missed the calling of his own name.  
  
  
  
I'm assigning partners for the research paper, was the gruff bark of explanation. You take Maxwell.  
  
Wufei nodded dumbly at this, maybe a touch unwilling to believe it. This assignment would take time- lots of it- lots of time with Duo. . . It was the hand on his shoulder that shook him finally from the trail his thoughts had been following. Turning, he gave a thin half-smile to the grin that made a euphoric sort of quiver in his chest.  
  
Guess it's you and me then._  
  
Bless me dark father I have sinned  
I've done it before and I'll do it again  
Cuz it keeps me warm, and makes you smile  
Been beneath me all the while  
Hell yes  
  
_Duo could not believe his luck. Somewhere out there, there was obviously a Deity who didn't glory only in tormenting him. Someone up there liked him, after all. Admittedly, he was not entirely looking forward to Mr. Barton's sadistic idea of a research paper. Honestly, he was grudging the whole assignment. And still, the better part of him was anxiously awaiting the start of his work here.  
  
Two words for you: Chang Wufei.  
  
For perhaps the first time in his life, Duo wanted to do his homework. More eager perhaps to splinter away at a little more of the complex shell that encased Wufei. He knew that he should know better. That he should leave well enough alone and glory in the growing friendship between them- that should have been enough. But it wasn't.  
  
How long had it been now? Almost a semester, and already Duo had found the Sacred Sword Academy to be a place he wanted to stay, where there were people he wanted to stay with. Quatre was simply wonderful. Heero, companionable if not a little standoffish. Trowa was subtle, calming. And Wufei- Wufei was becoming increasingly more important to Duo with the passing of each day.  
  
He respected him entirely, loved to see how far he could push without toppling, hung on all offered words. And with a wicked stubbornness, refused to acknowledge the true depth of his feelings. This was Chang Wufei after all. This was the brilliant, righteous, _straight_ Chang Wufei.  
  
_Yeah, you can dream_, Duo told himself with a sarcastic exhalation, _But you can't have_. _  
  
You gave up on me a long time ago  
I can't say I blame you  
I rejected the faith in your holy rays  
Is what it comes down to  
They said everything would work out just fine  
I just went crazy  
But I'm better now having a good time  
Being selfish, and drunken, and vulgar, and lazy  
  
_At the end of the day, Duo called Sister Helen and told her he wouldn't be home for a while yet. Big project, he explained. He would start work tonight at his partner's house. Good luck, she said. I'll see you tonight.  
  
The walk from the academy to Wufei's past mostly in silence. They said goodbye to Heero when they parted ways at Moon Dr. and continued on without sound until the front door was reached. The quiet was lost here at Duo's low whistle.  
  
Nice place, he said with an appreciative glance.  
  
Wufei couldn't think of how to answer, so he didn't. He slid his key into the lock, and opened the door.  
  
The house was spacious, and sparsely decorated, chilly in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. Wufei led a brisk walk through, without pause for Duo's observations, directly into his own room and closed the door behind them. They were the only people there- the hush was eerie. It rubbed the wrong way at Duo, who had become more than accustomed to the nonstop bustle and sound of the orphanage.  
  
he said, his eyes mapping the walls. what'd you do to piss off Dermail?  
  
Excuse me?  
  
Well, he's obviously punishing you, Duo turned his eyes on Wufei, pinning him with that grin. Saddling you with me.  
  
_I'm a masochist then_, Wufei thought with a wry smile, _If this is punishment_._  
  
Bless me dark father I have sinned  
I've done it before and I'll do it again  
Cuz it keeps me warm, and makes you smile  
Been beneath me all the while  
  
_The afternoon was gone, and evening was ticking away. They worked steadily, and conversation passed easily between them. There was a balance to their company, a fluidity to movement and sound. A rightness, observed by both.  
  
It was dark now, and in the lamplight of Wufei's room they ate take-out and paused in their work.  
  
Have you noticed, Duo was asking as he struggled with his splintery fast-food chopsticks, Quatre and Trowa acting sort of, I don't know, _strange_ lately?  
  
Wufei set his own chopsticks (which he wasn't having any trouble with, thank you very much) aside and was silent for a moment. He did not know Quatre well, but he had observed a change in Trowa. It was subtle, like everything that was Trowa, but there in a bizarre kind of obviousness. I have, was his eventual answer. What is it you're thinking?  
  
Duo shrugged, though it was obvious he had set his mind to certain suspicions.   
  
There is definitely something between them, Wufei continued, hoping to goad Duo back into conversation. I couldn't say what it is though. They seem tense together, but unwilling to separate.  
  
Duo nodded and said, abandoning the chopstick battle, Quatre wont say anything. Even just hinting at it he gets all flustered and changes the subject. He fished out the fortune cookies and tossed one to Wufei. Trowa hasn't said anything?  
  
There was a snort of laughter from Wufei at this. Has Trowa ever said much of anything?  
  
Duo's clear-ringing laugh filled the room- Wufei could not hide his smiling for it._  
  
Bless me dark father I can't win  
Without you I'm as good as dead  
Cuz you keep me warm, you make me smile  
You've been on my shoulder all the while  
  
_Open your cookie.  
  
After threading conversationally through several other topics, Wufei had forgotten all about the fortune cookies. Had forgotten nearly everything in favor of Duo's voice. For a time, the only sound was the crinkling of plastic wrappers, then the crisp snap of the cookie and rustle-slip of the fortune's removal. But when the silence hung, heavy and unwavering for a breath too long Duo looked up from the contemplation of his own take-out-prophecy.  
  
His voice was low when he spoke, lending a softness to the night. What does it say?  
  
Wufei's expression was a study in curious rumination. Opportunity knocks, he said quietly, unwilling to disturb the strange stillness that had set into them. Open the door.  
  
Almost as soon as his last word had escaped him there was a press of warm lips against his own- fleetingly, sudden and beautiful. Gone so quickly he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. Until his eyes met Duo's.  
  
  
  
His only answer was a smile, both apprehensive and without regret, and the presentation of a tiny slip of paper on which was printed: The Door is open, take a chance._  
  
Whispering sweet nothings  
You've been whispering sweet nothings  
  
_TBC. . .  
  
A note from Poe: I can't apologize enough for the terribly long time it has taken for this chapter to be finished. Know that we sorry, and very much trying not to let it happen again. Thank you so much for your patience, and continued reading. 


End file.
